This was sent to me by a reader, who says it was transcribed from an old spanking magazine they acquired many decades ago. I am reading it as fiction, as most such “reader letters” were; in particular, I’m skeptical that a “sticking plaster” would satisfactorily serve the function usually carried out by a sufficiently large butt plug. But the “letter” is plenty of fun even so:
Martha, my wife, used to be worried about her figure and I caught her taking dangerous slimming pills which were really an irritant to open her bowels. She had been caned before for various misdeeds but this time I gave her a good lesson. I told her to prepare herself for an enema of three pints, and I injected the soapy suds none too gently. That accomplished, I told her to keep the liquid inside her for fifteen minutes at least and meantime proceeded to give her twelve cuts of the cane which she does not mind all that much, having got used to it over the years.
Only after our swishy cane was laid across her butt twelve times was she to leave for the toilet; at least that was my plan. However, after the fifth stroke, given at intervals of one minute, she jumped up to run away. I was so flabbergasted; she can take a half a dozen without too many contortions. I rushed after her brandishing the cane. She reached the toilet before me but could not shut herself in, so great was her hurry and her internal pressure.
Since she did not get the full benefit of the treatment I had prescribed for her, I decided to repeat the treatment and make it really effective this time. I used her vaginal douche so we could be sure of the quantity of fluid injected using a more efficient solution. We settled for a Giant Douche full of 40% glycerin, 10% of caster oil and 50% of lukewarm water. Martha had second thoughts about the size of the douche and followed the procedure wide-eyed and begged me to stop.
I just grabbed her arms, pulled her onto our bed, placed her on her back, pulled her struggling legs over her head and tied them as well as her hands to the headboard. I then placed a small cushion under the small of her back so that she could bend her knees and move her thighs. In this way she could not interfere with my delicate operation.
The stem of her douche is about one inch thick and five inches long. I put Vaseline on the outside and gently brought its tip onto her rather small anus, but now well stretched. Her big pink bum cheeks should not have offered her any protection, but Martha nevertheless squeezed them fearfully together.
The attempted “squeezing out” of the nozzle was rewarded with two very juicy cuts of the cane which really made her scream in earnest as she wobbled her twin globes now decorated with sets of criss-crossing tramlines, the earlier strokes already forming dark wealed ridges. Again I brought the nozzle to her tight hole and with a deft movement pushed the stem in.
After the first shock my wife smiled bravely at me and suggested I take my time as she was in no position to do much about it. I gradually immersed the douche into her bottom as far as it would go and squeezed the lukewarm contents into her bowels. I worked the huge rubber ball several times to make sure that all the fluid was expelled from it, then withdrew the syringe. Not wishing her to lose any of the excellent mixture prematurely, I wiped her slippery cleft clean with some paper tissues and fixed a three inch sticking plaster to her backside smoothing it down into the crease with both hands to ensure complete adhesion.
I told Martha that she was to receive her original punishment for the slimming pills now because the earlier half measures had been to no avail and I wanted to be sure that the enema this time would be really efficient. Lustily I laid on the cane, and lustily she responded, her thighs going like connecting rods, her bottom jerking wildly in all directions, her tummy gyrating and in this way working the injection well in, judging by her crying, tears and entreaties for me to take the plaster off.
I can be most determined when I want to be, and I wanted to be. Twelve cutting minutes later I untied Martha. She rolled over to her side, her legs still thrashing the air. Her hands flew to her very painful behind, now striped in a random pattern. Martha vigorously rubbed her inflamed posterior the redness of which was now accentuated by her slender white hands. She sobbed and pleaded for me to remove her “bottom gag”. I told her it was for her own good to keep the enema as long as possible, that I would be the judge, and that I was very pleased with her to find her so cooperative, slithering about on the bed, massaging her burning sit-upon, as all this would further add to the medicinal action of the douching.
Half an hour later, I told Martha, who by now had quieted down and indeed was squeezing my hands tenderly and kissing me in appreciation of the nursing care I gave so freely and willingly, “Let us see how you evacuate your enema. I want to see whether it was worth the trouble.” We went to the toilet, poor Martha really hobbled, and I tried to remove the plaster. But Martha was so sensitive after the beating that whenever I touched her weals she winced. I had no option but to ruthlessly tear the plaster off. Fortunately her cleft is hairless but the suddenness made her scream and wriggle on the toilet where I had placed her in anticipation of her “decompression”. All control was now gone and with accompanying noises of relief the efficiency of the treatment became obvious, leaving on Martha’s face an expression of relief and bliss.
She washed herself thoroughly agreeing that “inner cleanliness” comes first. My wife confided that the actual insertion of the syringe was such a delight that she begged me to modify my lovemaking to simulate the experience there and then. Oh, this was indeed a wonderful experience for both of us. Back in the bedroom she knelt down and offered her now nicely perfumed body to me. I had no difficulty entering her from behind since her sphincter muscle had now been suitably exercised.
Her striped bottom simply invited me to squeeze a handful of the wealed skin which made her yell out loudly. Her bottom was really sore and I grabbed the part where there were several welts crossing each other. Believe me I did not have to pinch hard for her rear to buck wildly. Oh, yes, Martha’s big rear gyrated madly! I saw to that until I ejaculated. She blushingly told me that this was the most exciting sex she had ever experienced: impaled, her cheeks smarting, a love juice injection just like from the powerful douche. We are now educated in the art of erotic douching which requires much less effort than the sex act, for a possibly greater thrill.